


At Times I Shall Laugh (At Other Times Cry)

by justice_and_thieves



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Final Fantasy IX AU, Multi, tags tba as things go south, which will happen i mean have you seen this game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-08-29 11:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justice_and_thieves/pseuds/justice_and_thieves
Summary: When King Ozai starts entertaining a strange guest, his personality shifts closer to that of a man Prince Zuko does not recognise. Worried about the only family he has left, Zuko plans to seek guidance from his Uncle, King Iroh. Unbeknown to him, a group of thieves known as Tantalus have been sent to kidnap him. What begins as a simple enough mission turns awry when mysterious weapons tell of a deadly plot orchestrated by King Ozai and his acolyte.With the help of Tantalus thieves Sokka and Suki, a young but gifted black mage named Aang, and Sokka's Dragon Knight sister Katara, Prince Zuko must uncover the true nature of the threats to a hundred years of peace, and his own reason for living.





	1. Sky Above Alexandria

**Author's Note:**

> It goes like this: girl wants to write Zukka fic. Brain produces no plot ideas. Girl plays FFIX again because it's that time of the year. Brain gives birth to AU plot bunny even though nanowrimo was coming up and girl had other projects in mind. Brain is a fucknut. Brain wins anyway.
> 
> NB: this fic will follow the plot of the game pretty closely at first, then it'll start doing its own thing, barring major events. I'm not just copy/pasting I swear.

Alexandria was once a peaceful kingdom. Back a few years, when Queen Ursa still lived in the castle with her husband and son, the atmosphere was light and the hallways vibrant with life. Young Prince Zuko played hide-and-seek with unknowing servants, bothered the cook until he got his favourite pastry although dinner was only an hour away, and learnt well under the patient tutelage of Master Piandao. His father, King Ozai, was a strict but otherwise fair ruler who didn’t embarrass himself with sentiment, save for the occasional bout of possessiveness when it came to his wife, who was deemed the most beautiful Queen the kingdom had ever seen.

All in all the royal family of Alexandria was beloved by its subjects as they evolved in an age of peace spread throughout the whole of the Mist Continent, which as far as they knew was the whole inhabited world. No one found reason to complain and no one suspected their bliss would end anytime soon.

Prince Zuko, more than any other citizen of Alexandria, felt the foundation of his world shake upon the departure of his mother.

He was ten and frightened: the Queen had nearly fainted earlier that day, and although she had assured the servants that they could stop crowding her, that she would be just fine, had merely risen from her seat too fast, her face had been drawn and grey all day. It had been all Prince Zuko could do to plead with her to allow him in the royal chamber.

“You are far too old to be sleeping in your parents’ bed, my darling,” Queen Ursa had told him as she stroke his cheek. “It is not for me, Mother, but for you! What if you need help tonight and Father does not hear you?” But his pleas had fallen on deaf ears as his mother had reassured Prince Zuko that his father slept lightly, that he would always hear her call, that she would rest well and everything would be all right.

When he woke up the next day, the young Prince found servants with red-rimmed eyes comforting those of them who were wailing loudly, and something settled in his gut. Instincts took over: he ran over to his parents’ bedroom doors which he flung open in spite of the hands trying to hold him back, the shouts pleading with him not to go any further. _Pleas don’t work_ , he told himself, _they never will._

The curtains enveloping the canopy bed were drawn as long and tight as King Ozai’s face. He was sitting in a heavy chair from which he could watch the rest of the room while being mostly out of sight himself. Upon noticing his son there he frowned, and his voice rumbled like thunder during a dry storm when he spoke:

“Were you not told to stay away?”

“What happened to Mother?”

“Your mother is dead. Go to your room, I need some peace.”

“But–” Zuko started, taking a trembling step towards the bed. He could see a shape there, that of a person lying still. He needed to see in order to believe, needed to touch — but his hand, which had risen without his notice, was clasped by Ozai’s so hard that it stopped shaking.

“I need peace,” the King repeated. In the way he squeezed his son’s slim fingers there was no room for discussion, yet nothing that spoke of peace, either. Maybe the kind of peace he wanted could only be obtained through the complete eradication of sound and colour and warmth. Maybe peace for a man like him meant a heavy sadness entirely like his own, blanketing the rest of the world. He could not tolerate any loss but the one he felt in his bones, the sense of betrayal, the anger. Anything that didn’t fit those boxes disturbed him greatly.

Zuko’s sense of loss in the times that followed was echoed by that of the servants. He found great comfort in their presence and in that of his Uncle, King Iroh, for the short time the man was allowed to visit. Zuko’s cousin Lu Ten had come with, albeit only for a short period of time; his words had brought the beginning of a catharsis, or something like acceptance, in the young Prince.

After his Uncle and Cousin’s departure though, the castle fell silent. King Ozai, who had never been one to regard anything short of perfection kindly, became rigid at best and tyrannical at worst. The servants came to fear him and, soon after, his son followed. It came to the point where Master Piandao himself left the castle in search of a more welcoming environment — his last words to the Prince an apology that he couldn’t take the young teen with him.

Prince Zuko was thirteen when his father became completely isolated, taking all meals alone and avoiding his son most of all. The few times their paths crossed the King would turn the other way, seemingly deaf to the Prince’s calls or hastened steps trailing behind him, trailing, trailing, then stopping altogether when doors closed between the two.

Then, when the Prince turned fifteen, came the accident.

Should anybody ask him what happened he would remain silent, for there was nothing to say. Fever dreams, the constant feeling of moisture or wet cloth all around and over him; the pain, excruciating, coming from a spot on his body so precise that it seemed he was reduced to an eye, an eye and an ear, an eye and an ear and a cheek, but an eye all the time. White-hot, searing, gasps and vague sounds like voices and something banging somebody screaming a hand clutching and something he thought was his own voice, but

But he couldn’t remember a thing. Eventually he woke up — had he not woken up many times before ? —, stayed awake long enough to see a maid leave his room in haste, hear her shouts resonate in the hallways. “He’s awake!” She said, “the Prince is awake!”

And just like that people piled up in his room, physicians and servants and his new tutors and everyone but his father; all were there as something was taken off from his face, sticking to it, pulling at the skin. A smell came with it; a smell and pain, too, but most of all there was fear because everybody was staring with their eyes wide and their hands hiding their gaping mouths. A few maids started sobbing and were escorted out.

“Prince Zuko”, a physician said, “you were injured. Can you see my hand?”

 _What does me being injured has anything to do with your hand_ , Zuko meant to say, but he remembered to bite down on his tongue and count to five before he could speaking up. His right eye darted to the hand resting on the bed, propping the old man up as he leaned close to his patient.

“My other hand,” he said. So Zuko turned his face to the left and jumped when he nearly smacked his face against the open palm that was held there. This time his face scrunched up in anger but a younger physician cut in.

“As you predicted, doctor.” He scribbled something down, nodding at the little experiment that had taken place. Prince Zuko’s righteous anger turned to dread.

“What was it that you predicted?”

“My boy,” said the physician although Zuko was not his boy, “your eye was badly damaged. It is not completely healed as we speak, and my personnel will see you through the process until the end, but it is highly unlikely that you’ll see out of that eye again. Now if I may have more of your time, we will conduct an experiment on your left ear, which suffered some degree of damage as well. Let me know what you hear when I do this—”

Alexandria was once a peaceful kingdom.

By the month before Prince Zuko’s sixteenth birthday the castle was deserted. Servants cleaned by day, a cook prepared and served rich meals in negligible quantities; two faithful tutors by the name of Lo and Li remained by the King’s side, abiding by his orders and teaching his son. Prince Zuko was loath to show his disfigured face to anybody, making his father’s avoidance of him a blessing rather than the curse it used to be. Loneliness covered him like a blanket of snow, smothering sounds and all that betrayed life.

Yet just as Zuko became more like his father, King Ozai started to come out of his shell, inviting an extravagant figure in his parlour more and more often. The visits were held at odd hours, but more than the secrecy and the whispers it was the young visitor’s smirk that settled a sense of dread in the Prince’s gut. _I have to leave this place_ , he thought as sleep claimed him one night. _I have to leave, the sooner the better_.

Little did he know then that while escaping was the only thing on his mind, others wanted nothing more than to get in.

 

One such person was a young thief called Sokka, self-proclaimed ‘probably orphan, who knows?’, lover of meat and dry humour. Sokka was originally from Burmecia, the town of eternal rain. His dark skin would have told another story, but it was in fact commonplace among his people and their sister tribe in Cleyra. The blues of his attire as well as the wolf tail he tied his hair in were also indicators of his homeland, yet the teen still managed to blend in with the crowd of Lindblum, where he had made a name for himself as one of the best-looking actors of the Tantalus troupe.

Some might say the public would not be so keen on Tantalus had they known their acting career was but a cover story. Then again, many young people were enamoured with the idea of romantic thieves snatching them away into the night.

The portrait wasn’t half wrong, Sokka supposed; by all means he’d let the crowd believe they were safe from thievery during the day, if it helped fill his own pockets. Speaking the name of his troupe was also an excellent way to fill the gap between his arms too, sometimes. Those his age who had ever been seated close enough to the stage to know the group by looks alone were few and far between, but a famous name — _that_ was the real treasure, said old man Bumi.

Bumi, also referred to as ‘Boss’ by the group of teenagers he had taken under his wing, was the leader and founder of Tantalus and a whimsical man. Only he could understand the sudden shift in his moods, and if his bursts of temper had any real reasoning behind them the young actors would usually be the last to find out, if they did at all.

Bumi’s latest whim had been a campaign to abduct the Crown Prince of Alexandria, an obsession none of his proteges could tell for sure had been born before or after the Tantalus had been cordially summoned to the royal castle, where they would give a representation of the Prince’s late mother’s favourite play, _Love Amongst The Dragons_. All they knew was the timing was oddly convenient, but all of them had been taught better than to spoil a streak of good luck by speaking its name and spitting on it.

‘All of them’ meant the eight teens and young adults who had gathered around Bumi along the years.

Pipsqueak was the oldest, not needing anybody’s protection as such, but he had followed The Duke, his long-time friend and the youngest member of Tantalus, any way the wind had blown. The Duke was happy to have found a place where he was taken seriously, and Pipsqueak greatly appreciated the times the troupe got into a fight, whether it be real or staged.

Haru, who was second oldest after Pipsqueak, had joined first out of the eight of them and only out of love for acting — something, he said, his father had been great at but sadly unable to pursue. Being a devoted only child, Haru had thought it best to try and fulfil his father’s old dream in his place.

Longshot and Smellerbee came next, a duo of close friends who could communicate without words. Truth be told Longshot never uttered a sound no matter the circumstances, or so Sokka thought. He wasn’t even sure the young man had the ability to talk at all, in spite of the reassurances Smellerbee had given him. The short, opinionated girl was assertive enough for the two of them, although not being talkative per se.

That specific quality was more of Teo’s territory: the teen had a skilled mechanist for a father and had largely taken after him, making weekly tours of the Tantalus’ ship, Prima Vista, inspecting it for any signs of trouble or unrealised potential. One of Boss’ favourites, Teo contributed to the pleasant mood among the group.

For all the love Sokka held for the members of Tantalus, thinking of them as family, there was one in particular who had drawn his attention when he had first joined nearly three years prior.

Suki was smart, sarcastic, inventive, and a skilled fighter with a lovely face to boot. The latest addition to Tantalus until Sokka’s arrival, she had gladly shown him the ropes and made sure he fit in. Suki had also been the one to comfort him when he got homesick, when he couldn’t sleep because the emptiness under his ribs where his sister and parents used to be kept him cold. Any little thing he needed off his chest Sokka had handed to Suki, who always knew what to do with it. It hurt sometimes, her blunt honesty and down-to-earth statements, but he had grown from them and was still thankful to that day.

Suki had, at some point, become more than a close friend. Their first kiss had been shared at night, under a crescent red moon and a gibbous blue. Their last kiss had been sweeter, more confident. It had lasted all of seven months before both had come to the conclusion that living in such close quarters with their friends, being constantly around each other with their heart wide open had shifted their relationship into something different, something stronger. Their love had changed but never waned, and Suki was still Sokka’s dearest friend. She was, for all intents and purposes, the only one who could make him stop missing Katara when something would remind the teenage boy of his sister. Suki was his new home.

A home who didn’t mind nagging and poking and prodding when she found him alone at the bow of the ship.

“What were you thinking about?” She asked once she was standing by Sokka’s side, mirroring his stance looking at the horizon.

“We haven’t been in Alexandria in a while. Was that giant crystal sword shooting out of the castle always there? How aren’t people going blind steering their airship with that thing in the middle of the sky?”

“I guess they’re smart enough not to get here at the crack of dawn, or noon. Maybe they all come by night.”

“It must be pretty by night, with the moons’ light and all. It’ll make a nice prop for us at any rate.”

Suki hummed in agreement before pinching the old fabric of Sokka’s vest, snapping him out of his melancholy reverie.

“The best prop of all will be the freshly kidnapped Crown Prince safely tucked in the cabin before we drop him off in Lindblum. Come on, Boss wants us in the meeting room for a last rehearsal.”

Sokka headed towards the stairs to the inside of the airship, half a step behind Suki. Both thieves had a proud smile of their face no cold breeze or gigantic, blinding sword could undo. Anyone who’d see Tantalus perform that night would be lucky indeed, lucky to witness the boldest move in Lindblum’s most renowned acting troupe’s career.

 

As it were, black mage Aang was one of the lucky ones who’d get to see an old and beloved play brought to life by talented actors that night, as well as another person who much wanted to get inside the castle of Alexandria.

At the young age of twelve, Aang was full of the type of naivety one can only acquire by being raised in a closed environment. Found when he was only six by his adoptive grandfather Gyatso, Aang had then grown up in a grotto of sorts, an odd dwelling place for an odd man, most often damp and with no one but Gyatso, Aang, and unending echoes for company.

It hadn’t been bad, he had even been happy that way. Gyatso never failed to feed him well, teach him many subjects like astronomy and geography and reading and magic. The latter of which Aang learnt quickly, a field in which he could always be proud of himself as he surpassed Gyatso’s own level. Yet every time he did so and in spite of the old man’s insistence that there was no problem at all, a pained look would inevitably cross Gyatso’s eyes and he’d purse his lips, looking far away from Aang into a time and place the young mage could never catch a glimpse of.

Then one day Gyatso had died, and Aang had found himself alone with many questions to which no one could answer.

He had set sail to Alexandria a bit by accident, truth be told. He had aimed for a windmill at first, a small dot on the continental map hung up in the main room of his old home. Gyatso had tried drawing the thing and while it hadn’t been a masterpiece, Aang’s curiosity was an easy beast to wake. But the boy’s fondness for animals was another, stronger force in his life and so Aang had ended up travelling with a caravan pulled by a big, bright yellow bird he was told was a ‘chocobo’. The bird was unable to fly but its strong legs made it great for running long distances, as Aang had found out when the chocobo had brought him all the way to the Alexandrian kingdom after getting scared by a grand dragon.

Now Alexandria had been a pleasant, if surprising, visit so far. One of the first people Aang had met there had asked him why he was on his own when he looked so young and so lost, before offering to teach him how to use the coins the black mage had been given for returning the scared chocobo to a nearby stable.

“I’ll even sell you my ticket for tonight’s play,” the man had said, toothy grin and claw-like hands, “for half the price I got it!”

Now Aang had never seen a play and had been quite excited to change that, also had he readily agreed and given the man the five gold coins he held. Now why a gold coin would be worth less than a copper, the young mage couldn’t say, but every kingdom had its customs and Aang wouldn’t dare say he knew better than a true citizen.

“What’s tonight’s play about?” He asked the clerk appointed to checking tickets, situated in the middle of the market place that bordered the great gates to the castle.

“You don’t know _Love Amongst The Dragons_? It’s a beautiful play about unconditional love and being blinded by pride. The Tantalus troupe will be performing, so it should be a great time.”

“Who’s Tantalus?”

“They’re from Lindblum, and they’re very popular. They have their own airship that serves as the main scene, with a band and everything.”

“Then why aren’t they playing from the docks rather than the castle? Those guards over there don’t look happy to let people in.”

“Where are you from?” The clerk asked, holding back a pout as his foot tapped the ground in rhythm.

“Uh, around Treno.”

“Oh, well. King Ozai ordered the play for Prince Zuko’s birthday, so of course it has to take place in the castle.”

“There’s a Prince?” Aang exclaimed. Nobles bargaining for cheaper flower bouquets turned to frown at his outburst, but he had his back to them. The clerk, on the other hand, looked lost. Where had this child been that he didn’t even know the most basic things about a kingdom as great as Alexandria?

“Yes, there is. A quiet lad, I’ve heard. He’s turning sixteen tomorrow.”

“That’s amazing! I hope he’ll have fun tonight. Thank you for telling me all this!”

“Wait, wait a second! Kid, I need to see your ticket and mark it so you can get past the gates.”

Aang complied, eager to get going. Everyone who had a ticket was to be seated an hour before the beginning of the play, so as to not disturb the King and Prince with a commotion once the royal family showed up.

During his idle walk along the streets the black mage had heard people mention rooftops, but those couldn’t possibly be comfortable or even close enough to really appreciate the play. Really, Aang had been so lucky to find a kind man to sell him his ticket. If the people of Alexandria took after their King, the teen would bet his precious copper coins that King Ozai was about the most gentle, most compassionate soul in the whole continent.

“Oh. It’s a fake,” the clerk mumbled. That was the sound of Aang’s dream crashing down: a low mumble, contrite and apologetic. “There has been a lot of those going around, so… Yeah. Sorry, kid. Looks like a rooftop night for you, if you can find one that’s not packed full already.”

So Aang left, miserable, holding illustrated cards in his hand as a consolation prize that didn’t console him much at all. He had no idea how to play cards, copper coins were not worth more than gold ones, and King Ozai would probably be very disappointed in his subjects if he knew the kind of crimes they got into. _Unless he’s robbing them too_ , a pessimistic voice intoned from a corner of Aang’s head. He hadn’t known until then he was even _capable_ of pessimism.

“This is the worst,” he lamented, throwing a rock at the dirty expanse of water that pressed against the walls separating the castle from the rest of the town.

Now, when one lives in a grotto dug in the side of a mountain, there are many types of sounds one learns to dismiss. Wind singing through the tunnels, seeker bats flapping their wings, even friendly mus scurrying along. It was no surprise then that a swift brat with missing teeth not only managed to make his way up to Aang, but also scare him half to death when he patted the mage’s shoulder.

“Hello, I- I hadn’t seen you there,” Aang sputtered like he hadn’t just screamed. The other kid seemed to pay his reaction no mind, though, simply grinning bigger.

“Hi, I’m Lee. I heard your ticket was a fake?”

“I— Not even—” Aang started, but was cut off by Lee’s all-knowing raised eyebrow. “Alright, it was. Is yours a fake too?”

“Pwah! Like I’d bother buying a ticket when I can get in for free. You could too, if you agreed to do as I say.”

Now Aang had learnt a little from his previous misadventure already. Not everyone who smiled was kind, and not everyone who held out their hand truly meant for you to take it. He wasn’t about to embark on a trip across the line between order and misconduct.

“What kind of things would you make me do?”

“I dunno”, Lee shrugged, knowing perfectly well what he would ask. “Be my lookout, help me move big objects. Look, do you want to see the play or not?”

Aang wanted to. Very, very much. Also moving big objects didn’t sound illegal, not to mention if he used his magic he was the boy for the job. So he said yes and followed after Lee.

 

Alexandria was once a peaceful kingdom.

By the time this story started, Prince Zuko wanted nothing more than to flee the austere castle where doubt and fear were his only company. Little did he know there were others who wanted nothing more than to get in: a thief plotting to take him away, and a black mage looking for an eternal spark of goodness in the world.

None of them suspected their paths would cross and shake the foundation of the world, but it happened anyway.


	2. Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter SOKKA and SUKI  
> Exit ZUKO  
> Puts People In Danger By Complete Accident AANG

The play was about as poorly executed as Prince Zuko had feared. No matter how many times he saw it, in how many different ways, no one had ever done justice to his mother’s old favourite. There was a delicacy in it, a despair that could be fed by only the purest hope; a subtlety no one had managed to bring out. Yet.

At least Tantalus were not half bad at choreographed fights, the Prince noted as he glanced at his father.

King Ozai was seated in a chair large enough to accommodate the flowing sleeves of his royal garb. Where he had been sitting upright against the back of his seat before the sovereign was now leaning in, eyes following every step the actors took like waiting for an opportunity to strike.

“Father?” Zuko inquired. When he got no answer after a few seconds, he tried again. “ _Father_?” The briefest shadow of a frown was the only indication his voice had carried over to the man.

It was time.

Since the beginning of the play — no, ever since Prince Zuko had heard of Tantalus’ airship being stationed within his reach, bound to head back to Lindblum after their performance, he had waited for this exact moment. The King, focused, to the point he would forget his son’s very existence. He muttered an “I shall be back shortly” to Captain Zhao and General Mai as he slipped past them through the doors and inside the castle. He made his way to the royal chambers on light feet, his heart beating in his chest so fast and so hard it might have been in his throat.

Prince Zuko had no idea what he was feeling, to a degree. He recognised anxiety, stress, dread at the idea of getting caught. He could spot distress and panic for having experienced it so much, but there was a tang to it this time, a brand new flavour.

If he succeeded… If he succeeded…

The mere idea of it brought a smile to his face. How long had it been since he last felt, what, elation? Autonomy? _Hope_?

Ah. It had to be hope, then. That he would see his Uncle and Cousin, that he would tell them about the visitor, about Father. That they’d listen and help, talk to Ozai, bring back the person he used to be. That Zuko’s scar wouldn’t matter anymore, somehow. That his family, albeit small, would be repaired so he wouldn’t have to avoid mirrors like the plague out of fear of being reminded of everything in his life that was disfigured and broken.

But as of now his scar mattered. Anyone could hide behind an ugly burn, and Zuko doubted he would manage to obtain an audience with King Iroh without proving himself as the Crown Prince of Alexandria if he didn’t even look like the Prince. The news of his accident and subsequent disfigurement may not have reached the frontiers of Lindblum; the Silver Pendant, on the other hand, needed no introduction. Every sovereign on the Mist continent held a similar jewel, a broken piece of something once grand. The stone was passed down to each new generation but never left the castle.

A year ago the pendant had sat in the throne room, but as King Ozai’s strange behaviour had settled in, the jewel had been moved somewhere more private. Sleepless nights spent wandering around the castle had led Prince Zuko to believe his father would only be happy with the location of the stone if it was close to him — and he had been right.

Not daring to breathe, Zuko pushed the doors of Ozai’s bedroom open. They didn’t make a sound as they swung shut, trapping him in near-complete darkness save for a lit candelabra in a corner, casting shadows sharp as blade on the stone walls.

_I should have thought of that_ , lamented the teen, I _should have been more practical and sensible and brought some more light with me_.

How much did that simple mistake betray his upbringing? He had been cushioned and pampered so much he couldn’t even take action without somehow messing it up. Anger and disappointment, companions more loyal than Lo and Li, lifted his foot and stomped it to the ground; they growled low in his throat, brought his hands up to the smooth skin of his head, the top knot that stood alone there and his fingers grabbed it and pulled and it hurt and good, good. He could pretend the tears came from that and not frustration at his own stupidity.

Then Prince Zuko caught something moving from the corner of his eye. Something he wouldn’t have noticed had he not had his temper tantrum, something that was…

Him.

His reflection in the mirror of his father’s rosewood vanity, his reflection which was broken because an object, catching light, dangled from the intricate woodwork that encased the mirror and _spirits_ , Zuko thought. _Spirits_.

It was ridiculous of King Ozai to remove the Silver Pendant, most beautiful jewel of the whole kingdom, from the too-frequented throne room only to put it on full display in his personal chambers where servants and guards could see. _He must wear it often_ , the Prince mused, _or touch it so often having it locked in a box was too much of a bother_. His father had thrown caution to the wind just so he could admire the proof of his power and importance whenever he sat at his vanity.

The idea didn’t sit well with Zuko. He felt compelled to protect the stone, to care for it, to take it away from a man who didn’t seem to care about anything anymore unless he could put it to use.

_How would he put_ me _to use ?_

The teen silenced his troubled heart and gingerly picked up the Silver Pendant: time was of the essence.

The chain that came with the jewel was a bit long for him, Zuko noticed when he passed it around his neck. The pendant rested low on his stomach, comforting in a way that gave him courage to go on. Courage and incentive: he had committed treason by essentially stealing the most important possession of the castle directly from his father’s room, and if he got caught red-handed…

Proof of his royal lineage now in his possession, Zuko all but sprinted towards his bedroom. He had never been so thankful for his vicious temper as when he had managed to send Lo and Li on their merry way, even as they had insisted on helping him get into his royal garb. Admittedly Prince Zuko had been lost with the pieces of light armour and the neverending obi and the sleeves in which he could fit his entire body, but the elderly women’s absence had allowed him to tamper with his outfit.

Under his regal robes, Prince Zuko was not wearing the fine silks he had been handed. Instead he had slipped on the most basic items of clothing he owned, from simple trousers to a gold-trimmed haori. Shedding the heavy pieces of armour and his heavy robes, Zuko let the cool air plant goosebumps on his arms. On his bed he had prepared a cape with a low hood that could obscure his face and hide his scar from view. The last thing he wanted was to be recognised from afar as he snuck out and have guards sent after him. On the off chance such a thing did happen, he had with him the precious dual swords he had trained with the past few years. Should anything happen to him, he wouldn’t be completely defenceless.

All he had to do now was keep his head low, one foot in front of the other. He exited his room and let his feet take him the fastest way out. It was tiring, keeping his only good eye out for any movement, holding his breath whenever he wanted to hear something – but he would be careful and he would not get caught, he wouldn’t let anybody get him. Besides, the sound of armour was unmistakable, so should anyone walk his way, even with a bad ear and a bad eye, there would be no way for anybody to take him off—

“Guard!” he nearly shouted, jumping backwards when he turned towards a flight of stairs. His hands flew to his hood, pinning it in place. The guard was one of Zhao’s men, unmistakable as General Mai only trained and employed women, anyway. Zuko had his suspicions on why that may be, but now was absolutely not the time to dwell on his father’s bodyguards’ personal life.

“Yes?” the guard said, sounding falsely casual. No, he sounded casual, period. That was enough to put Zuko on alert. Why wasn’t he being questioned? A hooded figure wandering around the castle, unattended, and this guard didn’t sound the least bit suspicious?

_I have been caught_ , the Prince thought. His heart started racing. And then: _no, I do not know that for sure. Do not show anything. Act, just… Just act._

“I was heading outside. Would you mind moving aside so that I may pass?”

The guard, infuriating, smirked. His face was otherwise obscured by his helmet, giving the mocking grin the added strength of mystery.

“I suppose not. I came here looking for something, but now that I’ve found it… Mind if I accompany you?”

“I would mind, as a matter of fact. Please stand aside.”

Although Zuko tried to sidestep the guard, that stubborn, pig-headed _imbecile_ followed his move, planting himself firmly in front of the Prince one again.

“That’s not a proper way to treat a dude on duty. What’s got you in such a hurry, eh?”

_My fist in your teeth is what_ , Zuko fought not to say. His own teeth were ground and he was right about to do something he’d regret when a feminine voice came from halfway down the stairs.

“Hey, butthead! What’s so hard to understand about _team_ work?”

The pesky soldier turned around and that was Zuko’s cue. Slamming his shoulder against the guard’s, something he regretted instantly because he was no longer wearing shoulder pads and the other man very much was, the heir to the crown abandoned all false pretences and ran right past the second guard. Behind him he heard the first one shout “Run, it’s the Prince!” and bent down like he could duck out of the way of the accusation. He needed to make it to the acting troupe’s airship, fast.

So did Sokka and Suki, chasing after their mark at a pace some could have called leisurely. The Prince was fast, sure, but the two thieves hot on his heels had a lot more experience running for their lives. At any rate Suki could have overpowered him easily by throwing one of her fans at his ankles, but the guy was getting close to the Prima Vista and she didn’t want to spook him if there was a chance he would get in on his own.

She could tell that Sokka, one step behind her, felt the same. Taking sharp turns as their target did, careful not to gain on Zuko too soon, they made sure to stir him in the right direction by blocking paths they didn’t want him to take. Prince Zuko was obedient, stuck to the shadows, and kept quiet. When guards posted near key gates and vulnerable spots gave them too much attention, Sokka would wave them off and that would be it.

_Not the brightest guys_ , the thief remarked with a grin as the Prince dashed up the bridge leading to the Prima Vista. That mission had been as easy as snatching a mouse from under a sleeping cat’s nose.

With one last push from Suki, the three runners came to a halt in the cargo room of the theatre ship. The Prince was looking left and right from under that hood of his, unsure where to go next. He hadn’t managed to lose the guards who, upon further inspection, didn’t look like they fit in their armour. Were they new recruits for the night, ones too slim for the one-size-fits-all iron plates of Zhao’s soldiers? Or were they something else, disguised liars, enemies of the Crown?

Or maybe, maybe the real reason they hadn’t caught up with him even as he got winded from running, the real reason they had jogged after him until he got turned around, like they didn’t mind him boarding the ship, was…

“Are you part of this airship’s crew?”

To Zuko’s satisfaction, both removed their helmets. The slightly shorter guard, who was bright-eyed and as pretty as she had been quick, nodded and said: “We are. How did you guess?”

“It does not matter. I am interested in what _you_ may have guessed.”

Suki and Sokka exchanged a glance. Sokka raised an eyebrow. Suki did too, but hers went higher up. They had rules about this kind of things, thus Sokka took a deep breath and a dive.

“You’re Prince Zuko of Alexandria, dressed in what you probably think is a discreet outfit but all this cloak does is make you look suspicious. You wore that to conceal your identity, meaning you were trying to get out of the castle without anyone noticing. In other words, you boarded this ship to run away.”

The thief’s deductive skills were met with the kind of silence people drown in, like quicksand. Sokka and Suki were bystanders as the Prince’s breath quickened for a moment. Suspicious? His cloak? How could his motives have been so easily understood? How about the other guards, the real ones who hadn’t chased after him, had they known? Had they been followed? If Zuko had been so conspicuous all along, was it possible his father knew about his plan? What would he find when he reached Lindblum, provided he reached it at all?

“Woah, hey, calm down, it’s no big deal!” Zuko heard the one Tantalus member say from somewhere far removed from himself. “Dude, honestly, chill, we came here to abduct you anyway!”

“Sokka!”

“What? It doesn’t matter if he knows, since he’s gonna come anyway!”

“You don’t tell someone in the middle of hyperventilating that they were just about to get kidnapped! Spirits, were you raised by wolves?”

Mumbling something half-hearted about wolves being social animals, Sokka stayed rooted in place while Suki approached the target of their now-complete mission.

“Prince Zuko, were you planning on reaching Lindblum?”

The Prince nodded between two deep breaths, arms trembling as he braced himself against the low table set in the centre of the room. Panic was a known offender he’d have no trouble dealing with, What Ifs be damned.

“Good, we’ll take you there. You will be safe on our ship.”

“Really safe,” Sokka chimed in in spite of his better judgement. “We’re thieves, not murderers.”

“Sokka, again, not the time.”

“What, because telling someone they’re not gonna get murdered is a bad thing now?”

“It’s usually what people tell you when they absolutely plan to kill you.”

“What? No it’s not, who raised you?”

“Absolutely no one and you know it.”

There was probably more of that constant bickering, but for a blissful moment Zuko retreated into himself, imagined his mother’s arms around him. Inhale. Hold.

If someone had been after them, they would have been found already.  
Exhale. Pause.

He was trained in combat, he was not helpless.  
Inhale. Hold.

King Ozai barely crossed path with his son, how could he notice something as unexpected as signs of the Crown Prince planning to run away?  
Exhale. Pause.

He wasn’t always proud of it, but he had rejected Lo and Li often enough that his tutors wouldn’t have thought much of his outburst that afternoon.  
Inhale.

Nothing could have given his plans away. He had prepared no rucksack for servants to find, no maps or plans for curious eyes to spot.  
Hold.

The Tantalus would have taken him anyway, meaning that if they were found, the actors — criminals ?— were the perfect scapegoats.  
Exhale.

Come noon the next day he’ll be in Lindblum, safe and sound by his Uncle’s side.  
Pause.

“How long until the play is over?”

Two pairs of eyes zeroed in on him and Zuko shuffled beneath his cloak.

“Not much longer now. Suki and I have one last scene to play so uh, you’ll have to stay down until we come get you.”

“Twenty minutes, no more. Take that door,” the young woman pointed to her right, “and have a seat. If anything happens, lift the table and jump.”

She didn’t forward any further explanation before turning around and leaving the way they all had come, her colleague hot on her trail. Zuko was left alone, perplexed, legs still shaky from his previous shock. A seat didn’t sound all bad at that moment.

In the next room he found another round table as a centre piece, stools and small trunks and shelves filled with dust more than useful items. There was a rag doll on the floor, a tattered and lonely thing too out of place to be left untouched. Its clothes were red and gold and it sported what should have looked like a hair bun in royal fashion. The knot of hair was coming off, and one of the hands of the doll was covered in what the Prince could only imagine to be dried slime. He turned the thing around in his hands to find a most disconcerting marking:

**Prince Zuko of Alexandria, 15 years old.**

“I’m sixteen,” he told the doll, primary offender.

He did not feel like holding it in his hands anymore, that rag with its munched-on hand and inaccurate clothes, its dirty face with two seeing eyes sewn into a single piece of fabric that must have been soft and unmarred when the toy had first been made. The hair that covered all of the head, like it should, because the doll had no scar tissue that could prevent hair growth and turn a normal hairdo into a puzzle with missing pieces.

Zuko put it back on the shelf — he couldn’t bear to leave an image of himself in the dirt, false advertising though it was — and stepped back. How much bigger the shelf looked now that it wasn’t empty anymore, how lost the doll.

_Lift the table and jump._

Nothing had happened. If his captors, his means of escape, asked, nothing had transpired to push him to use the emergency exit. A mere itch to explore, curiosity. It had nothing to do with feeling watched by a stupid kid’s toy and what was a doll doing aboard a ship full of teenagers anyway?

The table was bolted down to a hatch. Through the hatch came noise, light, heat. Zuko’s left ear started ringing, his eyes closed on their own accord. In his back, the pressure of the doll’s stare.

He jumped.

The Mist-powered engine at his back produced enough heat for the Prince to consider shedding all his clothes and maybe his skin as well, but in order to do that he would have to remove his hands from where they were planted against his ears, trying their hardest to shield him from the infernal noise.

Quickly Zuko looked around. There weren’t many places to go: he had landed on a narrow makeshift bridge that ran along the walls, ending in a short flight of stairs. Before that was a door. He wasted no time thinking: he used his elbows to turn the handle, keeping his hands clamped over his ears. Once the door swung shut behind him there was a little peace, at last.

A little peace and a lot of rubbish. More trunks, way too many trunks, some so full they couldn’t be shut all the way. Strewn around were dirty cloths, brooms, brushes, ropes, and more things Prince Zuko had never interacted with in his entire life. More intriguing than day-to-day equipment wielded by servants were the round slabs of metal bolted to the floor and ceiling. Two half-moons came together, and Zuko supposed they could open if so prompted, but to what, to where? Why were those on the floor directly below those on the ceiling, was this a way to do the heavy lifting?

Concentrated as he was on trying to uncover the mystery of the could-be-traps-could-be-doors, could-definitely-be-trapdoors, he didn’t hear the first shout when it came. The second, on the other hand, was much closer to him and straightened him up, good ear pricked up for more. He hadn’t been able to make the words out as he couldn’t even tell where exactly the voices had come from, but—

“He went that way, get him!”

Oh, no. Someone had sounded the alarm after all. They were coming for him, maybe right next door, maybe they would come from above, maybe…

Where to hide? Zuko forced himself to swallow his panic, breathe, and look around.

The hatch.

He had no idea where that would take him, but he was right in front of one, there was a lever, he could hear more shouts and was still lost on where they were coming from and he felt the weight of the Silver Pendant against his stomach which was doing flip-flops and where had those two thieves from earlier gone—

The lever barely creaked as Zuko pulled it, first surprise. His second surprise was the slow ascent towards the ceiling, the trapdoor there slowly opening to make room for him. Light and noise poured toward him again, falling not like rain but like hail, like stones, like fists. Where was this stupid thing taking him?

He had been ready for about anything, even a closed room, even one filled with Alexandrian soldiers, even his father facing him with an air of reproach plastered on his face. But Zuko had not, in a million years, imagined he would end up in the middle of the stage.

The two fake-guards from earlier, in full costume now, were staring at him with eyes wide enough they had to hurt. He saw Bumi on the side and thought, _that old man looked healthier all the way up from the balcony_. Then he swayed, then he fell and saw the beautiful dark sky above him, he saw the stars and felt the weight of the world rush down to meet him like a punch to the stomach.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to push you! Oh wow, that’s a big scar. Did I do that? I didn’t, did I? My name’s Aang by the way!”

Aang, the weight of the world, removed himself from the Prince as the now-familiar shout of “Get him, stop him you spineless morons!” that Zuko could now attribute to Zhao of all people rang again. What was that all about? First he found out he should have gotten kidnapped, then ended up on stage — hopefully his fall had been too quick for his face to be more than a blur to the numerous onlookers. Now there was a child looking very much like an anxious Mu, right down to the adorable face and unexpected ferociousness, throwing fireballs at Royal Guards. The entire scene felt to much like a puzzle missing most of its pieces.

“What in Gaia are you doing here?”

Sokka grabbed Zuko by the arm, tugging to get him upright and closer to himself and Bumi, away from the showdown. Aang was keeping the guards at bay with gusts of wind, dousing them with water to slow them down, scaring them away with his fire and all that like it was the simplest thing in the world. Prince Zuko was simultaneously intrigued and jealous.

“Who is that child?”

“Some poor brat, I guess.”

“Why are the guards trying to subdue him? Did he commit a crime?”

“It’s like I said: he’s poor.”

Let it be known that the Prince’s urge to ask whether they should help did not speak to the goodness of his heart or the unquestionable quality of his moral compass. Prince Zuko was, in that moment, entirely at a loss regarding the attitude to adopt. Should poor people get chased around by guards just for being poor? Was it all there was? Alexandria was a proud, noble kingdom, where everyone was treated humanely. So what, he wondered, had that child actually done?

Mostly the young Prince needed someone to tell him whether or not to intervene. He could not reveal himself, that was for sure, but he had his swords. General Mai herself had been the one to train him back before she got promoted, therefore he could safely say Zhao’s soldiers would be no match against him. Aang seemed to be handling himself though, evasive as an eel whenever a hand would come close to capturing him. It was fascinating the way he would dodge, fire, jump, turn, hurl a gust of wind right at the guard standing in front of Zuko, the way said guard would throw himself out of the way, unknowingly leaving his Prince at the mercy of the element, the way Zuko’s hood was ripped away from his face—

The way his hood was ripped away from his face. A face that was now revealed for all to see, and if from where they sat the nobles may not be able to recognise the heir to the throne, as they didn’t even know what he supposedly looked like, the angry red of his scar was, even from King Ozai’s seat, unmistakable.

“Uh… Prince Zuko?” One of the guards asked, tentative.

Then all hell broke loose.

Bumi threw the heavy furs he’d been wearing as a cape right over a guard’s face. Suki ran by Aang’s side where they promptly took care of the second of Zhao’s men. Smellerbee and The Duke ran onto the stage with rope to tie the guards with, Pipsqueak hot on their heels. The mountain of a man tossed both soldiers off the scene and among the increasingly confused nobles. The Prima Vista started to rise up in the air thanks to team effort from Longshot, Teo, and Haru down in the steering room.

General Mai, from her station behind her King, groaned. Captain Zhao started running, turned around, came back, turned around again. King Ozai grabbed the arms of his high seat so tight something creaked.

“Fire the Bomb.”

The soldiers stationed by the cannon moved immediately. General Mai remained perfectly still as she recited her mantra for herself: the King knows better. He has his reasons. I can’t understand. It is not my place. The King knows better. He has his reasons. I can’t—

The sentient ball of fire was launched with no further warning. It flew over the balcony, past the scurrying nobles, and crashed into the orchestra box above the stage. Debris and dust rained down on the thieves that hadn’t fled below deck. Prince Zuko’s horror grew as his father’s silhouette turned small, left behind by the groaning airship.

Aang’s magic thrummed in his veins, begging to be used, to help. There wasn’t much he could do except push the theatre ship higher and farther, one gust of wind at a time, hoping they would make it far enough from the deceptively beautiful castle of Alexandria before they inevitably crashed. He saw actors run without a hint of hesitation, heard commands shouted from stern to prow. He felt the ship’s unsteady rise, heard new shouts that were more disorder than orders, saw nothing but the blazing flames and the darkness of night.

Alexandria at their back was barely visible when the Prima Vista started to dip. High pines welcomed them below, grazing the hull of the airship before caressing, embracing, holding, pushing, bumping, throwing…

Aang heard a loud shout of “fuck!” followed almost immediately by a more tasteful but just as alarmed, “Spirits!”

Then the ship hit the ground. Hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a thousand years, here's chapter two! I found it reaaaally hard to write and uh, it probably shows. POV is a mess, but practice makes perfect. Thank you lots for the comments, kudos, and a bookmark!!!! I got bookmarked what a LIFE!!! ♥  
> Chapter 3 may get there faster if I can catch a damn break. December is one hell of a month!


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